Twelve Days of Hetalia
by I'm Beth
Summary: Twelve Hetalia parodies all leading up to Christmas day.  One a day.  Mostly drabbles.  Various Pairings.
1. The First Day of Christmas

_On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a Harry Potter parody!_

Arthur collapsed into his seat on the Hetalia Express. He was exhausted —he'd spent all of yesterday in Diagon Alley shopping for school supplies. He'd had no idea that there were actual shops you could go into to by things like wands or flying brooms. _How nice it would be_, he thought quietly to himself, watching the landscape fly by, _to fly on a broomstick. It would be brilliant._

He was jolted out of his daydreaming when he felt something nibble at his pant leg. He didn't really even have to look down to know what it was.

"Flying Mint Bunny! What's the matter, buddy, are you hungry?" Given an encouraging squeak, Arthur left his compartment in search of the food trolley.

The halls were crowded with kids young and old, some twirling wands, others reclining against walls and chatting with friends. It was the kind of atmosphere Arthur had always imagined himself in. It was comfortable, it was casual, and it was scaring the shit out of him.

Alright, so he wasn't a people person that wasn't a bad thing. It was just part of who he was. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing.

Finally he found the trolley; and just as he'd hoped, the money he'd gotten from the Axis Powers Bank was worth a fortune in useless junk food and candy here. As he was inspecting the candies and wondering if flying mint bunnies would be fine with rabbit flavored jelly beans, two other kids came up to the trolley with a few sickles clutched in their hands. The first was a boy with wavy brown hair tied into a pony-tail. He had a round, girly face and pouty lips. The second, a boy, had white hair and purple eyes, which, Arthur assumed, was normal for wizards, and made a point not to stare openly.

"Damn," The kid said, shamelessly staring right at Arthur's face. "Those are some big eyebrow's ya got there. You part troll, or something?"

"SHUT UP, AT LEAST I'M NOT AN ALBINO FREAK WITH PURPLE EYES! FUCK YOU!"

"Wait a minute," The second boy said, holding up his hands in a peaceful gesture. "Don't mind him; he's just an idiot, he can't help but say stupid things." He leaned forward, squinting at Arthur's forehead more carefully. "But now that he mentions it. . ."

"Fuck you too!" Arthur shrieked, covering his forehead with his hands. "Fuck all of you!"

"Wait!" The brown haired boy grabbed his hand before he could run off. "You're Arthur Kirkland, aren't you?"

Slowly, Arthur lowered his hands. "Yes. . . How did you know that?"

The boy's eye completely lit up. "I knew it! You're the Boy Who Lived!"

Immediately, every eye in the trolley had fallen on him and his eyebrows.

Slowly, Arthur's hands went back up to his head. "Alright, I think we need to talk about this."

"But my aunt and uncle told me my parents were killed in a car crash!"

"Nope," The albino kid said through a mouthful of chocolate frog. "They were whacked by He Who Must Not Be Named." He didn't seem to harbor any grudge about being called an albino and being told to fuck off, which was nice —the downside was that he was incredibly annoying, so much so, that Arthur kind of wished he would take offence and leave. Every once in a while, the brown-haired kid threw him and apologetic glance, as though he was asking forgiveness for introducing them.

"Who's He Who Must Not Be Named?" Arthur asked, sitting forward in his chair.

"Well we can't very well just tell you his name," The albino laughed. "Then we'd be naming him, now wouldn't we? But anyway, speaking of names, my name's Gilbert. I thought I'd just tell you since you didn't seem to want to ask. I mean, it was pretty ru—."

"You can call me Ellie," The brown-haired kid said.

"Short for Ellias," Gilbert whispered to Arthur.

AN: So, I'm gonna try and do one of these every day leading up to Christmas. They will all be parodies, and they will all be for Hetalia, but I'm gonna dabble a bit in characters. Since I didn't get the idea for this earlier, I have to do them all in one day, so most will just be drabbles; so not at all as long as this one. I have a longer version of this one that I will upload after Christmas is over. Please be forgiving if I've made any mistakes in spelling or grammar. Twelve days until Christmas, you guys, WOOHOO!


	2. The Second Day of Christmas

_On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, robots in love,_

_And a Harry Potter Parody!_

"This," LD-WG growled. "Is entirely your fault."

VN-CO beeped innocently.

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOUR '_BEEP BEEP_' THIS AND '_TING TING_' THAT! YOU HAD BETTER TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR WHAT YOU'VE GOTTEN US INTO! DO YOU EVEN REALIZE WHAT THE IMPERIAL ARMY DOES TO ROBOTS THAT ASSIST THE REBELLION? _DO YOU_? WE'LL BE SCRAPPED! DECFRAGGED! SOLD TO SANDPEOPLE!"

VN-CO beeped frantically.

"Well, I bet there is pasta in Heaven, but that doesn't really matter since all _bad_ robots go to Hell."

VN-CO considered this for a moment, then, very hesitantly beeped again.

"No," LD-WG hissed. "There is no pasta in Hell."

This seemed to send him into a frenzy. With a _whirr_ and a fizzling pop, he dashed off into the dessert with a distinctive robotic cry, his one oddly curly wire waggling in the wind. "Wait, come back here! You can't just run off on your own, it's dangerous! GET BACK HERE!"

LD-WG and VN-CO had been maintenance droids on a rebel starship; reluctant co-workers (in the case of LD-WG, anyway). A few days ago though, they'd been attacked by the Imperial Army. Princess Arthur had been taken into custody for questioning —but before he had, he'd given some sort of data to VN-CO. What he thought the dumb little Pasta Droid could do with it, LD-WG wasn't sure.

They boarded an escape pod to get the information safely away from the Imperial Army and landed on a seemingly deserted planet. He says seemingly because after only an hour or so they were both locked in a huge, moving room sort of thing —captured by sandpeople.

"This," LD-WG repeated. "Is entirely your fault."

VN-CO beeped apologetically.

AN: Wow, this is late. And short. I apologize. I've been procrastinating this all day, I have no excuse. Again, though, I'll try & put a longer version up later. Very busy week indeed. Thank you and goodbye.


	3. The Third Day of Christmas

_On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, three magic mens,_

_Robots in love,_

_And a Harry Potter Parody!_

oOoOoOoOoOo

_Sugar, spice, and everything nice,_

_These were the ingredients chosen to create the perfect little girls._

_But Professor Rome accidentally added an extra ingredient to the concoction:_

_Chemical XXX_

_Thus, the Bad Friends Trio was born!_

_Using their ultra-useless powers,_

_Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert,_

_Have dedicated their lives to fighting crime and the forces of evil!_

_Duuh duuh du du du duuh duuh_

_Duuh duuh du du du duuh duuh _

_Duuh duuh du du du duuuuuuuuuuuuuh!_

oOoOoOoOoOo

"He's up to no good again," Antonio whispered to his comrades.

"I had a feeling something fishy was happening," Francis said. "We've got to stop him."

"Let's just go up to him and punch him in the face!" Gilbert shouted. To Gilbert, punching someone in the face solved everything, every time.

"_Sh!_" The other two hissed at him, throwing hands over his mouth.

"We have to be smart about this," Francis said over Gilbert's muffled complaints. "We have to get proof that he's doing something wrong before we attack him."

Gilbert ripped their hands off his mouth. "All this waiting around is so not awesome," He groaned.

"It'll all be worth it in the end," Antonio rationalized. "We just have to be patient."

"Alright," Francis said, setting his watch. "Operation Find a Reason to Punch Arthur in the Face starts . . . _now_!"

oOoOoOoOoOo

"There he is!"

"_Sh_!"

"Gilbert's pushing me!"

"Antonio's stepping on my hand!"

"_SH_!"

The three superheroes crouched on the ground, peering around a corner at Arthur, who appeared to be. . .

"No . . . it can't be. . ."

"He wouldn't. . ."

"Oh dear God . . . _that fiend_!"

. . . baking.

Indeed, Arthur Kirkland, villain extraordinaire, was standing in front of a stove, pushing something in front of him around with a spoon. His ridiculously huge eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. He didn't notice the three heroes at all.

"What do we do? What do we do?" Antonio gasped. "We have to stop him! What if someone comes in here and thinks its actual food and _eats it by mistake_!"

"Calm down, Antonio," Francis soothed, patting him on the back comfortingly. "You're being ridiculous. No one would ever make that kind of mistake. It doesn't look anything like food."

"You're right," Antonio sighed. "You're right. I just freaked out for a second there."

"Enough talk!" Gilbert scream/whispered. "It's time for action. We see he's doing evil, now can we go and punch him?"

"No, not yet." Francis whispered. "We have to remain vigilant."

Gilbert huffed in annoyance.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"God, how long can a person just sit in one place, read and drink tea?"

"It Arthur we're talking about, so we better be prepared to wait quiet a while."

"Francis, I'm hungry—."

"What do you mean, you're not anything remotely similar Hungary!"

"I said I was _hungry_, not _Hungary_!"

"Will you two be quiet? He's going to hear us!"

"But I want to take a lunch break!"

"Superheroes don't take lunch breaks!"

"What about Siestas?"

"No siestas, either."

"Well, then I'm out."

"What? You can't be out! You're the joy and the laughter!"

"The joy and the laughter needs a nap after lunch."

"Fine, fine, the Spanish get to take siestas."

"I'm back in."

oOoOoOoOoOo

"What kind of looser goes out drinking in the middle of the day?"

"The kind of looser who has no friends."

"Aw, that's kind of sad."

"He's a dick, he doesn't deserve any friends."

"Kiku seems to like him a little."

"Kiku's adorable."

"What? Francis, are you gay?"

"Are you seriously asking that? Where have you been all this time?"

"Yeah, what did you think, he just tripped and always happened to catch himself on someone's ass?"

"I just thought. . . I don't know, he was friendly, or something,"

"Wow, this is almost awkward."

"You got taken into the game closet a lot as a kid, didn't you?"

"Yeah, why?"

"He's on the move —let's go."

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Alright," Francis laid all their notes out on the kitchen table. "Let's go over what we've learned."

"Whaaaat?" Gilbert moaned. "I thought we were going to go kick some eyebrows now. We already know he's a dick, why do we have to talk about it?"

"Because that's the superhero thing to do," Francis said. "Now stop whining."

"I got some good pictures of him giving Sealand some of that food."

"Poor kid."

"Let's go over the facts we learned:" Francis said, picking up his note pad. "Number one: England's cooking can kill animals."

"Poor raccoons."

"Number Two: Arthur read the ending of _The Notebook_ without shedding a tear, meaning—."

"He's a heartless bastard." Antonio sniffed.

"Number Three: He's goes out drinking in the middle of the day all by himself."

"Probably to deal with the guilt of killing so many raccoons and poisoning so many children."

"Yeah, probably."

Francis cleared his throat. "Number Four: None of us ever discuss what we saw in Arthur's backroom ever again. Agreed?"

"Wholeheartedly."

"Even this amount of discussion is making me uncomfortable."

"Right," Francis said, looking back at his notes. "That's pretty much it."

"Now can we go punch him in the eyebrows?"

Francis glanced at his comrades. "I think now is the time."

oOoOoOoOo

Arthur was sitting in his favorite chair, reading a good book and drinking a good cup of tea. It was midday and he was just relaxing after finishing all his work. He was calm and serene and was not at all waiting for Alfred to call him. Because he didn't care at all. Why would he care if that burger-loving-pseudo-hero-fatass had better things to do than talk to his pathetic self? He was fine with that. Alfred could do whatever he wanted. He was independent, after all —in other words, not Arthur's responsibility. He didn't care.

_Maybe I ought to go out for another drink_, Arthur thought to himself, putting down his book.

Suddenly the doorbell rang. Arthur sucked in a breath. No way. Alfred, come and visit him? There was absolutely no way.

_That would account for why he didn't call_, though, Arthur thought, his heart rate quickening. _He didn't want to settle with the lukewarm sensation of my voice over thousands of miles —he knew he had to see me in person to quench his thirst for me!_

Arthur straightened his tie with trembling fingers as he walked to the door_. 'Oh, Alfred, what a surprise. I wasn't at all expecting you, but I suppose you can come in. You really should call first next time and not be so impulsive. I was kind of in the middle of something important, but if you insist, I'll make something for you to eat.' Yeah_, Arthur thought. _I'll say something like that._

"O- Oh—." was all he got out as he opened the door, however. The rest of his speech was somewhat garbled with the fist in his face, and all.

"Take that, you evil scumbag!" Gilbert screamed, flipping him off. He was flanked with Francis and Antonio, who were also giving him equally rude fingers.

"What the fuck?" England screamed, holding a hand to his nose.

"Justice has been served," Francis said. "Time to go!"

And with that, they ran away.

oOoOoOoOoOo

_Francis, commander and the leader,_

_Antonio, he is the joy and the laughter,_

_Gilbert, he is the toughest fighter,_

_Bad Friends save the day!_

_Fighting crime, trying to save the world, here they come just in time,_

_The Bad Friends Trio!_

_Fighting crime, trying to save the world, here they come just in time,_

_The Bad Friends Trio!_

_Bad Friends!_

oOoOoOoOo

OMAKE

America: Hey, why wasn't this chapter about me? I'm the hero, right?

England: Well, that's somewhat true, I suppose, but allow me to draw your attention to the '_Girls'_ in '_Power Puff Girls_'_._

Prussia: Are you calling us girls?

England: No, I'm calling you plural.

Spain: Ha! In your face, America! We're plural, _bitch_!

France: Technically, we're the Bad Friends Trio. . .

oOoOoOoOo

AN: Well, I think this one went a little better than the last one by a long shot. This was a lot of fun to write, so I'll probably come back to this one later.


	4. The Fourth Day of Christmas

_On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, four space nerds,_

_Three magic mens,_

_Robots in love,_

_And a Harry Potter Parody!_

oOoOoOoOoOo

When he first came, I thought he was a baobab sprout and was going to yank him out and toss him away. I wished later that I had. I saw his stem peeking out of the gray earth one morning and thought, "Ah, I really should take care of that," then went to tend to my volcanoes and promptly forgot all about him. I only remembered him again after I woke up the next morning.

"Oh no," I thought. "It must have taken up half my planet by now!" I rushed out with my hand shovel for some emergency pruning. I'd barely taken three steps when I realized that my planet was not half covered with baobab vines like I'd thought it might be.

I went back to the stem and saw the end had merely turned red and had hardly grown at all. As I was peering at it, the sun came round my tiny planet and something amazing happened. The red end on the stem split open, and spread into the most stunning flower I'd ever seen. Vivid red, whisper-thin petals all clustered together on a tiny green stem with the barest hint of thorns. Without a doubt, it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Utterly gorgeous, if you could overlook those eyebrows.

"Uhg!" He gasped when he turned and saw me there. "Well, there's no need to crowd around me so! Give me some room to breathe, if you would?"

"Sorry," I said, inching back. "It's just," I shifted, embarrassed to admit my simple-ness and ignorance to such a worldly flower. It had been quiet some time since I'd last had a conversation with anyone at all, as a matter of fact. I felt a little rusty. "I've never seen anything as beautiful as you before."

"O-Oh, is that so?" He stammered, his petals fluffing out in a very proud sort of way. "W-Well, that stands to reason. I'm a, uh . . . a one of a kind, you see."

"Wow," I breathed. I was very impressed. I'd never met a one of a kind creature before. "What kind of creature are you?"

"What?" His leaves drooped somewhat. "Um. . . Uh. . . W-What use does a one-of-a-kind creature have with a-a name? If there's only one of them, you can't really call that a species, now can you?" He cleared his throat and appeared to straighten himself. "But, uh, y-you can call me Arthur." If it was possible, his petals seemed to turn even redder.

"Well Arthur, my name's Alfred, and I'm the only person on this planet." I crouched down to his level and wrapped my arms around my knees. "Maybe I'm the only one like me, too. Maybe I'm a one-of-a-kind creature, as well."

Arthur snorted, his petals ruffling indignantly. "Rubbish!"

"Rubbish?" I asked. "Why?"

"W-Well," Arthur cleared his throat again. "I. . . I have seen others like you before. You are not so rare in the universe. Not at all like me." He turned away from me. "There's no way you could have any conception of the struggles one-of-a-kind creatures, like myself, must go through on a daily basis just to stay alive."

"I'm sorry," I said again. In the future, I would find myself saying that quiet a lot. "I didn't realize how hard it was for you."

"It's alright," He answered modestly. "I couldn't expect you to understand."

"Does this mean you're going to be living here with me?" I asked. Truth be told, at the time, I really hoped he would. Loneliness can make a person overlook any flaw. "It's not so bad here, Arthur. There's plenty of water, and the sun looks amazing when it sets, and I have some volcanoes to keep you warm in the mornings when the sun is far away."

Arthur cleared his throat, and again, I could swear his petals were pinker than before. "W- Well, it seems there's nothing else for it then, seeing as there's no one else here to take care of you. I've got no choice in the matter. It's the proper thing to do. . ." He looked up at me then, and seemed almost shy as he asked, "You've really never seen anything like me before?"

"No, not ever in my whole entire life." I replied earnestly.

"Well of course you haven't!" He laughed proudly. "Like I said, I'm one of a kind."

oOoOoOoOoOo

AN: Cutting it a little close, aren't I? I've actually been working on this one for way longer, so there's a lot more that got cut out. Just you wait, I'll post it up.

Anyway, I realize this parody isn't as well known as Harry Potter, or Star Wars, or the Power Puff Girls, so let me explain: The Little Prince is a French children's book by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry about a pilot who crash lands in the dessert and meets a strange little boy whom he refers to as the Little Prince. The book is narrated as though Saint-Exupéry is the pilot and chronicles his time stranded in the dessert with this kid, and the things the kid tells him. It's an amazing book that I absolutely adore, and I recommend it to anyone who has a Peter Pan state of mind, or any sort of love of classic fairy tales.

This book is great for parodies, if you ask me, because of all of the very specific characters. Once you get into the scenes where he's planet hopping, it's great for drawing little similarities, or just making up new ones. Alright, I'm rambling a bit, so let's wrap this up.

Let me just thank all of you who are favoriting, and saving and reviewing —it really makes my day to see that and makes my finals a lot less stressful. You all are great, and I hope you have a merry Christmas, or Hanukkah, or Cuanza, or whatever the case may be. Goodnight.

PS. They made a movie of the Little Prince a while ago, but I didn't really like it at all. The snake was kind of creepy. . .


	5. The Fifth Day of Christmas

_On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, A GOLDEN CHANDELIRE that-falls-on-the-stage-in-the-middle-of-a-preformance-and-crushes-whoever-is-under-it-for-no-disernable-reason-whatsoever-to-the-audience-but-we-all-really-know-what-happened-and-omg-i-bawed-so-hard . . ._

_*gasp*_

_Four space nerds,_

_Three magic mens,_

_Robots in love,_

_And a Harry Potter Parody!_

xXxXxXxXxXx

_La Salle de Musique Hetalia_ was one of the most acclaimed opera houses in all of New York City. It had once been owned by the wealthy and powerful Kirkland family, who managed the opera house from their home country of England. Their youngest son of twenty, however, came to America to take charge of the (at the time) decaying and bankrupt building. Arthur Kirkland was an ambitious young man who was always striving to better himself and crawl out of the shadow of his three older brothers. Jackson, the youngest of the three older brothers, had just finished college with a masters degree in business and was on his way to buying a highly successful chain of drug companies. Sean, the second oldest, had finished eight years of college as well and was extremely well known through Ireland (where he lived with his wife and children) for his famous chain of consignment stores (and for his famous children —last Arthur had heard, the youngest had published a new book of poetry). But it was Lewis that Arthur most wanted to overtake; their rivalry (if you can call flawlessly being better than someone who hated your guts a rivalry) was famous throughout all of the England. Lewis now lived in Scotland and hardly gave his nuisance of a brother a thought. Lewis had come into quiet a bit of money with his famous ale and was now living comfortably. Arthur knew that bringing the opera house back to fame would finally make his parents realize his true talent and look at him, not as an inferior to his sibling, but as his own person, with his own success and merits.

In the time of one year, Arthur Kirkland had made the _Salle de Musique Hetalia _the hot spot of Time Square. Celebrities and commoners alike delighted in the ravishing decor and exuberant young actors and vocalists Arthur hired. It was a pleasant change from the stoic, drab theaters they were used to. But at the height of his success, Arthur Kirkland disappeared. Many suspected foul play, seeing as anybody would want the deed to the most expensive opera house in state, but after a month or two, and a body had yet to be found, it was assumed he'd eloped with a Miss "Elisabeth R". Arthur had never messed around with women —always working on the opera house, never giving himself a minute of rest— so this idea was extremely scandalous; so of course, the most readily excepted. No one was entirely sure of this woman's true identity, but many sonnets and letters had been found in Arthur's room addressed to her. This astounded co-workers and friends alike —Arthur was such a cold person, it was astounding he could write words with such warmth.

After countless battles over who would run the opera house in the absence of its previous owner, co-founder Francis Bonnefoy signed the papers that would turn the _Salle de Musique Hetalia_ over to him. Arthur Kirkland's will had not been found, and family doubted he'd even written one, so, legally speaking, Francis was the proper owner.

Arthur Kirkland and his mysterious disappearance were soon forgotten as the opera house rose to fame greater than ever before.

xXxXxXxXxXx

"Welcome," Francis Bonnefoy smiled and winked at the troupe of giggling girls. "I would like to personally thank you for choosing _La Salle de Musique Hetalia_ as your entertainment for tonight." He gave a subtle bow and swept his arm out to indicate the rest of the lobby. "I am truly honored to have such beautiful ladies in my opera house this evening."

If one good thing can be said about Francis Bonnefoy in pleasant contradiction of Arthur Kirkland, it was that he was incredibly hospitable (he was also handsomer, and a better cook, and had better hair, and a way cooler accent, and a better sense of fashion. . .). Instead of staying locked up in his study filing paperwork or making phone calls, as Mr. Kirkland had, he was out and about the lobby, attending all the performances, welcoming the guests, chatting with them, flirting with them, making jokes. No one could deny that he was and excellent host. Still, there was something Matthew Jones found off about him.

Matthew had been working as Mr. Bonnefoy's assistant for years now, and while he had no real complaint against the man (other than the years of sexual abuse) he still felt there was something fishy about his means of acquiring the deed to the opera house. He'd tried to laugh it off, put it out of his mind, and anyone would agree that Francis didn't seem the murdering type. But it had also been a widely accepted fact that Francis and Arthur never got along. But then again, Matthew had never actually met Arthur in person, so that may have been a bit of an exaggeration.

"_Mathieu_, my dear boy, stop biting your nails like that," Matthew jumped and made a squeaking sound when he felt Francis's hand on his shoulder and his breath on his neck. He blushed self-consciously, as though his thoughts were visible on his face. He had no right to doubt Francis of anything; especially after all he'd done for his brother and him. They'd been poor street urchins before Mr. Bonnefoy came along, and if it weren't for his taking them in, they'd have probably died.

Francis pulled Matthew's hand away from his lips, blind to his assistant's guilty mind. "It would be a crime for hands as beautiful and as delicate as these to be harmed in anyway." Francis turned his hand over and kissed his knuckles, perhaps nuzzling a bit more than was strictly appropriate.

Yeah, like he'd said: sexual abuse.

Francis pulled down Matthew's sleeve and checked his watch. He smiled tightly. "Please tell me you've seen your brother, my darling."

Matthew pressed his lips together, his eyes darting hopefully around the already crowded lobby. The show was set to start in half an hour and Alfred Jones was no where to be found. "No, sir, I haven't." Matthew muttered apologetically. "But you know him:" He laughed through the sweat beading on his forehead. "Always the drama queen. You know he'll show up at the last minute in some overly dramatic—."

"Sorry I'm late!" Alfred Jones burst through the lobby doors, bringing the faint smell of liquor and animals with him. "You all simply _have_ to go to the circus before it leaves town."

The crowd parted around him as he walked through the doors like the red sea for Moses. He winked and shook hands and made small talk as he approached the pair. Girls swooned and giggled when Francis talked to them, but they all but threw themselves at Alfred's feet when he walked by. Francis was polite and hospitable, but Alfred was the real life of the party. People talked about him everywhere he went. He was the hottest topic on the streets and over dinner tables. Everyone loved him, everyone mocked him, and everyone wanted to be him. He was the star of the theater. If it weren't for him, _La Salle de Musique Hetalia_ would have gone under years ago. It had been pure luck on Francis's part, finding him on the street with Matthew all those years ago. God knows he can't sing a note, but that doesn't stop him from staring in almost every performance they have. His beauty and popularity bring him back time and time again by demand of the audience. For whatever reason, they love him on stage, even if his singing voice is prone to make animals feral. Matthew doesn't mind though —he has a place to sleep and food to eat and a well paying job. If these idiots want to subject themselves to the torture that is his brothers singing to pay for all that, then that was fine with him.

"I'll kill the bastard," Francis hissed under his breath, then, for the benefit of the rest of the guests, he called out, "Alfred, you're here! Cutting it a little close there, aren't we?"

Francis laughed and Alfred laughed and all the ladies and gentlemen in the lobby laughed. They all laughed, except for Matthew, who'd seen this act one too many times to be moved at all by it anymore.

"So uptight, Francis! You used to be so much more adventurous than that." Alfred laughed. "But I guess that dies with age too, hu?" Disappearing into the crowds giggling masses, Alfred slipped up the staircase and down the hall.

"I'm not _that_ old," Francis said stiffly.

"I know," Matthew whispered.

"I'm barely thirty."

"I know."

"That's not all that old."

"Not at all, sir."

"You don't think I'm old, do you?"

"Oh, my! The play will start soon. I'm going to go and, uh, check on Alfred." Matthew ran away before Francis could say anything else.

"Thirty," Francis grumbled, now officially talking to himself. "Is not that old."

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

AN: This one, again, I've been working on for some while, so there is definitely going to be more later, I just need to finish it. . . Anywho, hope you all enjoy, MC. Later.

Ps. _Phantom of the Opera_, for anyone who didn't get it.


	6. The Sixth Day of Christmas

_On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, six vamps a sucking,_

_A GOLDEN CHANDELIRE,_

_Four space nerds,_

_Three magic mens,_

_Robots in love,_

_And a Harry Potter Parody!_

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Hey," Alfred Jones tapped Matthew on the shoulder. "What's up with those guys over there?"

Matthew didn't need to turn to know who he was talking about. On the other side of the lunchroom, sat the Kirklands; Ludwig and Feliciano, who were dating; Antonio and Lovino, who had sort of a dating/fighting/headbutt!love relationship; and then there was Arthur —poor single Arthur. "Yeah, those are the Kirklands. They're a . . . strange bunch, aren't they? They just take some getting used to, is all. Just wait until you're here a little longer."

Alfred doubted time was going to help at all. Across the lunchroom, the huge-eyebrows kid continued to make eyes at him. He shuddered. "And, that one there," Discreetly, he nodded his head at the boy. "Who's he?"

"Oh, that one's Arthur," Matthew laughed a little. "He's the only single one. The rest are dating each other."

"Um, that's extremely gross."

"No, you don't understand! They're adopted —they aren't related, or anything."

"Still gross."

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Fuck."

Alfred scowled as he sat down next to the huge-eyebrows kid (the name had kind of stuck) in biology class. "Pardon?"

"Oops," Arthur covered his mouth (and most of his nose) with a pale hand. "Did I say that out loud?"

"You're a real freak, you know that?" Alfred set his things down with much more force than was necessary. "And stop covering your nose!"

"You reek of cheeseburgers!" Arthur shouted back. He scooted as far away as the small desks would allow. "Do you bathe in them, or something?"

"Hey," Mr. Beilschmidt (or, Mr. Awesome, as he'd asked them to refer to him for the rest of the year) shouted. "Sit down and shut up! I don't care who stinks and who's a vampire, and _ohhh_! Did I just give away the ending? Too bad —NOW SIT DOWN! THIS IS MY CLASSROOM, BITCHES!"

Alfred sat down.

"You shouldn't be friends with me." Arthur whispered.

"I'll try my best." Alfred whispered back.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was midday; a faint, rainy musk hung over the entire town —but this was nothing new. Spoons was always rainy, always cold, always boring as dog shit.

"I know what you are." Alfred whispered.

"Say it," Arthur murmured in return. He stood behind Alfred, practically spooning him, if you can spoon while standing up. "Say it out loud."

"A brit."

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

AN: Ohmahgosh, I'm so sorry this is so late! I was at this Christmas party all day and just got back now. Please forgive this for being so short, I only started it this morning. Again, I will post longer version up later.

Thanks for all the comments and stuff, you guys, they really make my day!


	7. The Seventh Day of Christmas

_On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, seven witches cursing,_

_Six vamps a sucking,_

_A GOLDEN CHANDELIRE,_

_Four space nerds,_

_Three magic mens,_

_Robots in love,_

_And a Harry Potter Parody!_

**Act 1, Scene 1**

"We should really do this again sometime."

Raivis and Eduard nodded in agreement. "What type of weather should we meet in, next time?" Eduard asked, notepad in hand. Were there ever arrangements to be made, Eduard was making them.

"How about we meet after the battles over?" Raivis said, nodding towards the battle that was taking place a ways down the hill. The three brothers looked at the fighting with something that they would never admit was terror in their eyes. They all silently thanked God they weren't down there fighting as well.

"Good idea."

"I agree."

**Act 1, Scene 2**

King Germania (fuck it) was strolling the battlefield with his three sons, Gilbert, Ludwig, and Romeo, telling them all the wonderful things about war, when a Pole showed up.

"Wow, that guy looks like he totally got his ass handed to him," Gilbert laughed. The Pole didn't appear to be paying attention though, and seemed much more occupied with fixing his hair.

"I just, like, totally got back form the battlefields, man." He replied in the most formal of manners.

"Excellent," King Germania gestured to his sons. "Why don't you tell us about the war? How did it go?"

"Oh my God, where to begin," The Pole took a seat under a nearby tree and started taking his shoes off. "Well, in the beginning, it totally looked like we were going to loose. We were all like, 'Ahg! Don't kill us you stupids' and they were all like, 'Don't call us stupid' and we were all like, 'Well you are—"

"Could you get to the point?" King Germania asked in a strained voice.

"Oh yeah! Anyway, we, like, totally would have gotten our asses handed to us if it hadn't been for that one guy!"

"'That one guy'?" Ludwig asked.

"Yeah, what was his name again . . .? Ardur, or Arnold, or something like that. . ."

"You mean Arthur?" Ludwig asked.

"Yeah, that's him!"

"I'll have to give that man a promotion," King Germania mused.

"Now, about this arrow in my butt . . .?" The Pole hedged.

**Act 1, Scene 3**

With a clap of thunder that shook the surrounding forest like the angry hand of a giant, the three witches appeared, dressed in black and sporting their evil markings.

"So," Raivis said once all the smoke had cleared. "What have you guys been up to?"

Eduard laughed, dusting off his cloak. "Killin' some pigs, and whatnot. You know; the usual."

"I cursed a woman a little while ago," Taurus mused. "She was being really rude to me and wouldn't share her snacks."

"Yeah, you just gotta curse people like that."

"I agree, they deserve it."

Suddenly, drums started to beat somewhere in the distance.

"Oh, Arthur must be coming," Taurus said. "Get ready —."

"Actually," Eduard said. "Can we not do the dance?"

"Or the incantations, while we're at it?"

"Well, damn," Taurus put his hands on his hips. "Do you want to curse him or not?"

"But it's really embarrassing!" Raivis whined.

"Okay, whatever."

"Mon Dieu!" Francis gasped, pulling his horse to a stop. "Look Arthur! Look at those creepy guys! They are so not cute! Not cute at all! Uhg, let's get out of here!"

"That bastard's getting his ass cursed." Estonia hissed under his breath.

"What did you say?" Arthur asked.

"We said 'Hail'! Hail the great King Arthur, and hail Francis, who isn't as great as Arthur, but his sperm is supposedly great, because his children will be king next!"

"Wait," Francis looked at Arthur, who was speechless. "How do we know they're correct? They're probably just trying to trick us."

"When you get home, your son Matthew will not be wearing the dress you bought f—."

"Ah, ha ha ha!" Francis interrupted loudly. "They're the real thing; I think they're telling the truth!"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

AN: Ahg, I was hoping to get the entire Act 1 up tonight, but that just didn't happen. Sorry, you guys, maybe latter.

The truth is, I've never actually read Macbeth. (lol)


	8. The Eighth Day of Christmas

_On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, eight pumpkins wilting,_

_Six witches cursing,_

_Five vamps a sucking,_

_A GOLDEN CHANDELIRE,_

_Four space nerds,_

_Three magic mens,_

_Robots in love,_

_And a Harry Potter Parody!_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Thank you all for attending this years Halloween!" Alfred J. Bones shouted, throwing his arms out to the crowd of festering ghouls. "I couldn't have done it without you all —and next year, it will be even greater!" He took a moment to take in the cheers and whistles before he stepped to the side and said, "And now, Mayor Ludwig will hand out this year's awards!"

Arthur Kryptland watched silently from the crowd as Alfred slinked off, unnoticed by the crowd who were eager to get their awards (he didn't see what they were so excited about —every year, everybody got the same thing: vampires got the award for most blood consumed, witches got the award for most curses bestowed, werewolves got the award for most cats chased/eaten). He turned to the side to look at the scientist who'd created him. He wasn't aloud out of their sight, but he was known for sneaking away whenever the fancy struck him. Sneaking away now, in this dense crowd, would be a piece of cake.

Feliciano Teargas grabbed his brother's arm. "Lovino! Lovino! Look, he's leaving! Maybe we finally lost him!"

Lovino shook his idiot brother off his arm, but he too looked hopefully after the retreating form of Arthur. Ever since the scientist brothers had accidentally created Arthur a year ago, they'd been trying to loose the creep. He kept escaping, but through a seemingly unfortunate series of events, he always ended up back with them.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

Arthur Kryptland crouched behind a dusty old tombstone and watched Alfred lament to his pet alien, Tony. "Tony, I don't know what's wrong with me." He sighed, petting the luminescent Tony on the head. "Halloween is usually my favorite time of the year, but for some reason, now, I just can't get excited about it. Usually, scaring everybody is the best, but I just don't get that same thrill out of it as I used to."

Arthur couldn't help but cringe. On a scale of one to ten in scariness, Alfred was about a three. But that was okay —the town loved him and Arthur lov_ah_ ha ha ha! What? No, um *cough* it amused him to see Alfred floundering about like a dope. Yeah, that's why he went along with everything the idiot wanted to do. Yeah . . .

"I just want Halloween to make me feel like it used to," Alfred went on, completely oblivious to the stuttering, blushing fool hiding a few graves away from him. "Maybe it's time to retire." He admitted with a sigh. That broke through Arthur's self-denial bubble. Alfred Bones, quit? He couldn't imagine a Halloween without Alfred. He _made_ the holiday!

He wanted to jump out and tell Alfred this, explain to him exactly how much the rest of the town, and he for that matter, needed him. He wanted to, he really, really wanted to, but his feet wouldn't move, and his lips felt like they were sown shut. Alfred got up and walked away.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

AN: Wah, this is really late, plz forgive me! I was out almost all day, it was completely unavoidable! Please enjoy, &, again, shall post something longer at some point in the future. Later!


	9. The Ninth Day of Christmas

_On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, nine stuffed-toys prancing,_

_Eight pumpkins wilting,_

_Seven witches cursing,_

_Six vamps a sucking,_

_A GOLDEN CHANDELIRE,_

_Four space nerds,_

_Three magic mens,_

_Robots in love, _

_And a Harry Potter Parody!_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was a snowy, blowy day in the Hundred Acre Woods, and all the animals were getting ready for Christmas. Ivan the Tsar had switched from bottles of vodka to bottles of vodka with bows around them; Francis was putting a bit more holiday cheer into his bounces (by shouting '_Merry Christmas_' as you as you pulled your face out of the mud); Berwald had been planning on putting a star atop his humble home —seeing as his house wasn't big enough for an actual tree— until he realized he didn't have a home anymore; tiny little Raivis was busy barricading his home against _Pére Fouettard _(Francis liked to scare the little piglet); Mama Tino and little Peter were baking cookies and handing out handmade care baskets to Those Less Fortunate; Roderich had dug out the dusty Christmas music sheets and was subjecting anyone he could find to hours of it on the piano; yes, everyone was in the Christmas spirit —but nobody quiet so much as Arthur.

Ivan the Tsar and Francis sat idly in Arthur's little rabbit hole as the afore mentioned rabbit ran this way and that, hanging this and draping that, all Just So, because if it wasn't Just So, then it just Wouldn't Do. Ivan pondered the sense in asking him exactly why he was so bothered, but then he noticed that Arthur's Vodka cabinet was open, and that Arthur probably wouldn't notice —er, he means _mind_ if Ivan just had a sip.

"Merry Christmas, all!" Peter called, bursting through the doors, basket of cookies and cakes and other such treats in his basket. He sniffed at the air. "Something smells awful! You cooking, Artie?"

"Peter!" His mother chastised, right on his heels. Tino threw an apologetic smile at Arthur, who just shrugged and kind of smiled. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I hope we aren't a bother, but Peter was so proud of the treats he made he wanted to come and give them to everyone right this instance."

"You're really impressed, aren't you, jerk?" Peter held up a few blackened, star shaped objects that once might have been edible.

Instead of sneering, or laughing, or pointing out that one of them had just moved, Arthur just smiled somewhat distractedly, patted him on the head, and went on hanging and draping.

"What's up with him?" Peter asked Ivan. Ivan, who had had quiet a bit more than a sip of vodka by now, and ought to be drunk and giggling, just smiled and tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"Well, it's probably because of Alfred." He mused.

Alfred dropped the wreath he'd been about the hang and whirled to face the three. "It has nothing to do with him! I just –just like Christmas, is all!"

"Oh please!" Francis laughed. He leaned close to Tino and Peter with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "Let me tell you about Alfred. . ."

"It's not a big deal or anything," Arthur grumbled. "He's just a –a friend."

**One Christmas Ago:**

It was a snowy, blowy day in the Hundred Acre Woods, and all the animals were getting ready for —oh, well, you get the picture.

Arthur, Ivan, Francis and Raivis were out for a walk in the snow, collecting firewood, haycorns, and taking accounts of all the snowflakes in all the Hundred Acre Woods.

"I really think I've seen this one before," Ivan said, peering at one he had on his black glove. "I think all that about them all being different is crap."

"Will you focus?" Arthur asked, his arms filled with firewood. "We have to get this firewood back home before the snow really sets in."

Francis stopped suddenly. "Did you all hear that?"

"Very funny." Arthur snapped.

"I'm being serious!" Francis snapped right back. "I thought I heard a little voice going '_help_'!"

"It was probably my poor, cold house, desperate for firewood." Arthur hissed. "Now would you pl—?"

"_Help!_"

They all stopped now, and listened. They'd all heard that. Francis gave Arthur a I-Told-You-So look, but Arthur wasn't paying attention. He looked up at the top of the trees, where the noise had come from. "Hello? Who's there?" He called. "Are you alright?"

"_Help me!_"

"Oh d- d- d- dear!" Raivis stuttered. "D- Do you think it's a- a Russian s- s- s- spy?"

"What?" Francis and Arthur asked at the same time.

"Ha ha ha!" Ivan interrupted them. "Don't listen to this little pipsqueak. He doesn't know what he's talking about. Silly little Raivis," Ivan laughed, pushing down on the piglets trembling head. "Always talking nonsense."

"_Please, help! I'm going to crash!_"

At that precise moment, something small and blue flew by their heads. After that, there was a moment of flying limbs and confusion: Raivis squealed and dove under Ivan's coat (_kol kol kol_), someone yelled '_Sacrebleu_!', a carrot was pulled out of seemingly nowhere and waved in the air like a dagger, and about twenty logs of wood went flying into the air.

"What on earth was that?" Francis asked, pulling a carrot out of his hair.

"It looked like a little bird," Ivan said thoughtfully, but didn't move to get off Raivis.

"It went that way!" Arthur shouted. "I'll see if I can catch it!" With that, he dashed off into the woods, following the tiny blue dot the best he could in the horrible conditions.

"Just hold on!" He shouted. "I'm going to rescue you!

"That'd be great!" The little bird shouted back. "Could you get on with it?"

Arthur let that one go on account of his life being in danger. In the future, he'd learn that was just how Alfred went through life.

"No," Arthur hissed. He'd lost sight of the little dot. He stopped and began turning in circles, wildly searching out even the slightest hint of the bird. "Where did you go?" He called out to the whiteness.

"I'm right he —_oof!_" Were the last words he heard before something small and feathery hit him in the back of the head and everything went black.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

". . . and that's why a rabbit is completely incapable of taking care of a baby bird."

"I think he's starting to wake up."

"You've been saying that for an hour now, Ivan. What makes you think he'll wake up now?"

"I have senses about these things."

"Should I play some recovery music?"

"Eh, why don't you go put some more tea on the stove?"

"If rabbits like to kill baby birds, then why did this one save me?"

"Don't listen to Francis —Arthur would never hurt you."

"I brought the firewood."

"T- Thank you, Berwald. That was very k- kind of you."

"_He's scary!_"

"_Sh!_"

"I think he's waking up."

"Ivan—!"

Arthur groaned and rubbed his eyes.

"I told you."

Arthur started to open his eyes. Slowly, everyone in the room came into focus.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Francis sneered. "You're out of tea."

"And vodka." Ivan added.

"Thank you for rescuing me." A feathery little stranger said, pecking him on the lips.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

AN: Woo! This one is so much longer than the others! I feel so good! Christmas is coming up —I'm so excited!

And, fyi, this is an actual Winnie the Pooh story. It's called Season's Greetings or something like that. Anyone remember Kessie, the little blue bird from the really old episodes? Yeah. Happy times.


	10. The Tenth Day of Christmas

_On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, ten kords a meaping,_

_Nine stuffed-toys prancing,_

_Eight pumpkins wilting,_

_Seven witches cursing,_

_Six vamps a sucking,_

_A GOLDEN CHANDLEIRE,_

_Four space nerds,_

_Three magic mens,_

_Robots in love,_

_And a Harry Potter Parody!_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Alfred! Alfred!" Arthur called, tinsel and winsel and bells and dells trailing from his arms. Alfred turned, half a who-buger hanging out of his mouth.

"What's up, eyebrows?" He asked.

"Um, uh, uh, I- uh. . . W- What are you doingforchristmas?" Arthur's face was red as a whomato (do you guys see where I'm going with this?). He busied himself with picking up his winsel while he waited for Alfred's answer.

Alfred swallowed the rest of his who-burger and thought about it. "I'll probably have a party or something. I just want to hang around people on the holiday," He laughed. "I can't think of anything worse than being alone on Christmas."

"Uh," Arthur coughed. "Yeah, that would be awful."

Alfred grinned and slung an arm around Arthur's shoulders. "You're coming, right?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"It'll start at eight," Alfred called over his shoulder as he started to walk away. "You better come, eyebrows!"

Arthur stood there a moment longer after Alfred left, thinking to himself exactly how magical Christmas time was. It really did make miracles happen.

It's true, that every Who in Who-ville liked Christmas a lot, but the Swede, who lived just north of Who-ville, did not. Well, they assumed he hated it —he never came down and celebrated with them, and whenever they looked up and saw him there on Mt. Crumpet, he had this really creepy look on his face.

The Swede lived all alone on Mt. Crumpet, with only his dog, Hanatamago, as company. He had no friends and he had no family, which is what most figured made him so grumpy and scary.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Santa Claus?"

The Swede turned and saw a tiny little Who standing in the doorway. He was small and thin and trembling. "What are you doing with out Christmas Tree?" His voice was small and thin and trembling, too.

"'M takin' it ta tha N'rth Pole ta fix tha lights."

"Uh hu," Tino Loo Who said, slowly inching towards the who-phone in the kitchen. "Great. I'm just, uh, going to get your milk and cookies. Ha ha. . ."

(The Swede Inner Thought: _Wow, how kind of him. Everyone in this town is so kind —I hope they like how I fixed all their decorations_.) "Ya' don' h'v ta do tha'."

"Ok, I'm sorry!" Tino Loo Who cried, throwing his hands up. "I'll just go upstairs now!" And with that, he did just that.

(The Swede Inner Thought: _He's so excited to meet Santa Claus —cute_.)

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

AN: A little short, but I think yesterday's makes up for it. Sweden would make a really cute Grinch :D)


	11. The Eleventh Day of Christmas

_On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, eleven Snowmen 'piping',_

_Ten kords a meaping,_

_Nine stuffed-toys prancing,_

_Eight pumpkins wilting,_

_Seven witches cursing,_

_Six vamps a sucking,_

_A GOLDEN CHANDLEIRE,_

_Four space nerds,_

_Three magic mens,_

_Robots in love,_

_And a Harry Potter Parody!_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"I think," Raivis said, leaning back from their creation. "That this is the best snowman there ever was."

"It certainly has all the anatomical features a snowman should have." Eduard said, smiling and dusting snow from his gloves.

"I don't know," Taurus said, inching away from it a little. "It looks a little creepy, if you ask me."

"Well, that's just because we haven't put the scarf on yet!" Raivis laughed. "He just looks angry because he's cold! I'll go get it."

"It must be nice to be so young," Eduard mused.

"Yeah," Taurus laughed, distracted by the fact that he could have sworn the snowman had just grinned at him.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"What the hell's going on?"

"_It's outside! It's outside the house!_"

"What is? What's out the—?"

"_KOL KOL KOL._"

"WHAT WAS THAT?"

"_Idon'tknowIdon'tknowIdon'tknow!_ It was- I- We sang a song a- and. . . _I don't know_!"

"Call the police!"

"And tell them what, that there's a creepy sno—?"

_Click_. "_KOL KOL KOL_."

"Did you leave the keys under the matt?"

"_Shutupshutupshutup_!"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Well, I can't make heads or tails of it." Arthur Kirkland, the only local police officer on duty at that time of night, said.

"What are you talking about?" Alright, that wasn't entirely fair —Alfred Jones was _technically_ a police officer as well. He was also still _technically_ in training, so Arthur didn't usually count him as a legitimate officer. "This has obviously been an attack by a killer snowman! Look at all the clues; the wet tracks on the floor; the ice all over the place; the abundant lack of carrots in the fridge! This has been an attack by a _frosty fiend_!"

"Will you please think before you speak?" Arthur asked, pocketing his notepad. "The press will be here any minute and I don't want the headlines tomorrow to read: Frosty Fiends Prowl the Streets!"

"Whatever," Alfred shrugged. "So, was there anything else missing? Could we classify this as a robbery?"

"It's the strangest thing," Arthur sighed, peering at the blood and ice on the walls. "The only things that are missing, besides the boys, are a scarf and the sink pipe."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

AN: Another short one, lol. But hey, who cares? Christmas Eve is tomorrow! I'm so excited jfdjklfdskljfierirewdfs

Any way, this is Frosty the Snowman, for those who couldn't tell.


	12. The Twelfth Day of Christmas

_On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, twelve reindeer mocking,_

_Eleven snowman 'piping',_

_Ten kords a meaping,_

_Nine stuffed-toys prancing,_

_Eight pumpkins wilting,_

_Seven witches cursing,_

_Six vamps a sucking,_

_A GOLDEN CHANDELIRE,_

_Four space nerds,_

_Three magic mens,_

_Robots in love,_

_And a Harry Potter Parody!_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_You know Matthew, and Gilbert, and Francis, and Alfred,_

_Arthur, and Roderich, and Ivan, and Ludwig,_

_But do you know the most famous country of all . . .?_

_Peter, the Guy with Eyebrows,_

_Had some very harry brows!_

_And if you ever saw them,_

_You would even say . . .'wows'._

_All of the other countries,_

_Used to laugh and call him names—_

_They never let poor Peter,_

_Join in any country games!_

_Then one foggy Christmas Eve,_

_Finland came to say:_

"_Peter with your Eyebrow Beam,_

_Won't you guide my reindeer team?"_

_Then all the countries loved him,_

_As they shouted out with glee:_

"_Peter, the Guy with Eyebrows,_

_You'll go down in history!"_

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"I don't get what you're complaining about," Arthur snapped. "There's nothing wrong with your eyebrows. I mean, you don't see me whining. Nobody ever made fun of my eyebrows."

"That's because you threatened to curse anyone who tried," Peter grumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

To say that Peter hated Arthur would be very harsh; he strongly disliked him, and ever once in a while had dreams about ripping his antlers off and shoving them down his throat. But it wasn't hate, not at all.

Arthur was Peter's older brother of sorts. They had no parents, but Arthur had taken care of both of them just fine. Arthur was pretty famous around the North Pole; he pulled Santa's sleigh. He was an important part of the whole Christmas operation; and Peter was going to follow in his footsteps. After he went to Reindeer School. Which he wasn't very keen on doing. Because he'd also inherited his brother's horrible eyebrows.

"This is all your fault, stupid Arthur!" Peter snapped. "I never want to go to school! Everyone will make fun of me! Nobody else has ugly eyebrows like these! I hate you!" With that, Peter stormed off, quiet impressively, if he did say so himself. Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes. Where did he go wrong.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"What is that ridiculous thing on your head?" Arthur asked with visible disgust on his face. But also a good amount of humor. "It looks like you're trying to smuggle baby rabbits into class under there."

"Shut up!" Peter snapped in the wrong direction. He'd been up almost all last night modifying one of his old baby hats so that it would fit over his antlers and hide his eyebrows without looking too conspicuous. By 'modifying', we mean he cut two holes in the top. "It's the best I could come up with."

"Well, you look even more ridiculous than you did before, but whatever," Arthur turned and walked in the direction on the school house. "What do I know? I'm only older and smarter than you."

Peter ignored him. His plan was going to work fine. He had it all worked out; if anyone asked him to take it off, he'd say he had lice. If anyone made fun of the hat, he'd jab their eye out with an antler. All. Worked. Out.

"Nice hat," He immediately whirled around and got in eye-jabbing position, but he stopped when he saw who it was behind him. It was a petite, somewhat dark colored reindeer with kinda curly fur.

"You're not making fun of me, are you?" Peter asked apprehensively.

She looked at him cooly. "Not really. I said it was nice, didn't I"

"Y- Yeah!" Peter laughed. "It is nice, isn't it? Ha ha ha!"

"Just," She came a little closer. "Maybe you should pull it up a little. It looks a little funny li—."

"I HAVE LICE!"

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

The girl reindeer's name, he learned later, was Wylie. She was very mature for her age, and seemed a little turned off by all of Peter's wooing attempts. Luckily, though, they were in the same class, so he had plenty more opportunities to woo.

"Oh man!" Sebastiano laughed. "Look at all the cute reindeer chicks in here!" He elbowed Peter in that way guys do to each other sometimes; that _hey-you-know-what-I'm-talking-about-because-you-are-also-a-guy_ elbow. "See any you like?"

Yeah, he was in their class as well. Which was kind of annoying.

Sebastiano was a few years older than them, but he kept getting held back because he was always too busy hitting on girl reindeer to pass any of the tests. But that was ok with him, because there were always new reindeer chicks for him to creep on next year.

Don't get the wrong idea, please. Sebastiano is a nice guy, and he would never hurt a soul, but he loves the ladies, and sometimes he just can't understand the term _monogamy_.

"Just kick him out, already," Wylie grumbled to herself.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

AN: Kinda long, hu? Well, whatever. I think it's cute. Not really much of a finale, but whatever. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, and all that jazz.


End file.
